Haunted
by Trevor X
Summary: Dark. "Shades of the dead gathered around him daily, but they could not sway him from his course."


_**"Haunted"**_

_'Orson sees the ghosts of those that he has betrayed.'_

_**Disclaimer:**_Fire Emblem is owned by Nintendo and IS. No money is made by the writing of this drivel.

~o~

_Ephraim is the first to visit him after the bloody slaughter._

It had been altogether too easy to betray his prince; after all, Ephraim hurtled himself headlong into the jaws of death every day without hesitation, convinced of some grand destiny as a hero. All that Orson had to do was let slip the location of their next camp to the scouts that shadowed the ragged unit. The enemy had done the rest, slaying his comrades in a sudden ambush that the tired knights could not fight through.

He had not had to lift a finger to destroy what he had sworn to protect. When he rode past the bodies of his comrades, he could not recognize them anymore. He was glad that he could not associate them as the men that he had spent so much time beside in battle. It was better this way; they were dead and didn't matter anymore.

Only one thing mattered; his love would return Monica from the depths of Underworld. That was the promise that had been made.

Her body had already returned to him, but her mind did not follow as quickly as he had hoped. Orson wondered about the matter for a moment before deciding that it didn't matter if his wife was broken; she had always been broken in some manner before and at least she did not suffer from the illness that had so ravaged her body in the years previous. If he had to wait for her memories and skills to return, then he would do so.

His thoughts on the woman who awaited him at his destination, Orson believed that his dreams would be filled only with her.

He was shocked when he entered his tent. Prince Ephraim sat in one corner, eyes full of accusation for the knight who had betrayed him. Orson stiffened and made to draw his dagger from inside his tunic. A swift lunge would bring him in range... until his weapon passed harmlessly through the intruder and tore the fabric of the tent.

_The prince was a figment of his imagination. A figure without speech, an illusion of his overworked body and misplaced sense of guilt. Surely it would pass in the morning..._

Ephraim was rather persistent for an illusion; when Orson greeted the dawn, the prince remained in the same place where he had started the night. If he had not moved during the night, Orson thought that it might have been the longest stretch of time that Ephraim had stayed in one place since the time that he had learned how to run.

From that point onward, Orson ignored the shade that followed no matter where he went. It no longer mattered to him what it desired; his thoughts remained with the living. Eventually Ephraim began to look weary; as the days rolled onward, Orson held hope that the apparition would fade from his life.

On the eve of his next betrayal, the ghosts of his companions wandered the camp. He thought that he could hear them wailing, but when he spoke of the noise, the sentries dismissed it as nothing more than the wind. Orson fell silent, unconvinced. He could see his comrades' lips moving, though no one voice reached him.

The ambush the next morning ended in failure due to the actions of a rival knight, the man having whisked the princess and her bracelet out of his grasp. It was not done without sustaining losses however; several other ghosts joined the shadows around him. Faces without names reproached him with their glances.

_Orson ignored them all. What could they possibly know of his sacrifice?_

Several days later, other phantoms arrived. He recognized his rival and the princess, the former walking forward with the latter in tow. They joined Ephraim in haunting his tent at night and at times he thought that he could see pity in their gazes. That too did not matter. Judgment or sympathy held no worth when offered by the souls of the dead.

Freed from the hunt for the twins, Orson turned homeward. Shadows followed him still, haunting his travels even as he drew closer to the capitol. Castle Renais loomed large in the distance, broken walls surrounding the inner keep and smoke still wafting from the ruins of the city proper. The knight ignored the sights around him, focusing instead on that single moment when Monica stepped towards him from their bedroom. "Dearest. Dearest."

_He smiled. No amount of ghosts could detract from what he had accomplished._

As the sky grew dark and more shadows converged upon the castle where he held court, he refused to acknowledge anything. Everything was fine with the world. He and Monica would nurture peace in this little corner of the world.

Innes of Frelia joined the ghosts and Orson began to imagine that the dead were coming to him for aid. After all, hadn't he brought back Monica? Perhaps they wished to be brought back as well.

Speaking of such things aloud led to murmuring amongst the few guards that he had been allotted. The ghosts began to fade from his view and only those that he knew well remained visible to him.

Dark creatures roamed the streets and the stench of blood permeated even the haven that Orson resided in. When the sky suddenly grew dark, he lit a candle and sought out his wife to reassure her; Monica had always been terrified of the dark. When he found her, the few ghosts gathered in a line before him. He ignored them, pushing through their ethereal ranks to join his wife at the window.

"It's alright, my love. I am here."

When she turned, Orson was startled to find himself facing something else. Monica grew wings and claws and fangs. He tried to backpedal, to find some logical explanation for her transformation. Yet it was all for naught; the thing that Monica had become caught him in a vicious embrace and thrust one clawed hand into the hollow cavity of his chest. Pain flooded his system and as the creature crushed his heart, he heard its laughter. _"Dearest! Dearest!"_

As the life faded from his eyes, he cast one last look at the line of ghosts and found a surprise.

The only one that remained was the one that he had always refused to acknowledge. As his gaze darkened and the creature began to devour his flesh, Orson recognized the face that stared back at him with such pity.

_Monica._

He had never brought her back at all.

~o~

**AN:** _Another 'what if' scenario based on Orson succeeding with his treachery. Did you really think that the demon king would create a harmless puppet to keep Orson entertained? I think it would have been some demonic monster sealed for time in human form or an undead thing based upon a corpse. Since Monica had apparently been dead for some years by the time that Orson gets the offer to 'resurrect' her, I think it's likely that she is more the demon creature in human form than reanimated corpse. Unlike the Emperor who actually had a recent deceased corpse to reanimate._

_And yes, this is really dark. Sorry. I just don't see happy endings for Orson even if he gets his wish._


End file.
